


Forge Your Destiny

by Mawgon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgon/pseuds/Mawgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hobbit comes of age, a mark often appears on her or his wrist, identical to the one of their soulmate. Belladonna always thought she would not get a mark, and be free to remain a spinster and live her own life. However, on the morning on her birthday, she discovers to her dismay, that her soulmate is the last person she would ever want to marry.  What is a hobbit to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as tiny idea, and then I sort of decided to write it down. I have the feeling that I should have put more work into this, as the idea has potential to be great, but I know myself, if I don't publish it, I will never finish it, so, here it is. 
> 
> I took some freedom with the places people live, and may not be completely accurate about the families.

It was a bright, sunny day, and the children of Hobbiton were all out on the streets playing. 

„Hey, boring badger!“

‚Badger’ turned around, and was hit by a raw egg, that soiled his fancy, embroidered waistcoat.   
Tears formed in his eyes as he ran away. 

“I told you to stop that!” Bella glared at the criminal, hands on her hips like she had her mother seen doing when scolding a child. With her dirty, torn shirt and short trousers, she looked nothing like her mother, but it couldn’t hurt to try, right?

“So what?” Weasel smirked. “Think I take orders from a girl?”

A challenge. 

In the blink of an eye, Bella was upon him, punching and kicking. Her victory cost her her shirt, which was torn beyond repair, but Bella didn’t care. 

She wiped the sweat from her face, dirtying it even more, as Weasel scurried away. He should have listened to her in the first place – there were few things that made Bella as angry as someone big and strong attacking someone smaller and weaker and softer. 

At ten years old, she was clearly one of the stronger, bigger children, and as such it was her duty to protect the young ones. 

 

:::::::::::::::

 

On the morning of her thirty-third birthday, Bella went outside in nothing but her nightgown and a dressing gown, to check on her new patch of flowers. They had shown very interesting buds in the past few days, and might start blossoming any day now. 

When she knelt down to inspect the very tiny flowers, she inadvertently made a happy noise. The blossoms looked like nothing she had ever seen before. 

“Best thing I ever got at a birthday party”, she murmured, happily caressing the soft leaves of her new flowers. She had had no idea what the mysterious seeds would become, and had doubted whether she’d be able to get them to grow, but she had taken care to watch them and give them whatever made them flourish, and now, she had succeeded. 

An itch on her wrist startled her from her bliss. Oh. Oh crap!

Her soulmark had come in. She had been planning to become a spinster, so this was quite inconvenient. 

She eyed it curiously. Maybe it was someone nice ... however, the pattern, made of tiny flowers interwoven with each other, resembled one she had seen before. Oh no. Please not. Not ... Weasel.   
Weasel couldn’t be her soulmate! He was ... well, he just would not fit. 

They got along much better these days, and he was invited to her birthday party. Bella had been planning to give him a pink hair bow. She had never forgotten the disdain with which he had talked about girls when he had been young, and thus, she always got him something distinctly ‘girly’ for her birthday. 

It would not do for a soulmate, though. 

After returning inside and washing her hands, Bella picked a handkerchief she herself had embroidered with pink forget-me-nots. Girly enough to offend his sensibilities – she didn’t want to let go of that joke just because he was her soulmate – but still meaningful enough to fit their new relationship. 

Her hands trembled while she wrapped it in pink wrapping paper. Weasel was not the kind of person she had hoped for as a soulmate. Not that she had hoped at all – she was a rather odd hobbit, and had counted on being one of the few ones who didn’t have a soulmate. 

There were some she wouldn’t have minded very much ... but Weasel ... was Weasel. 

 

Her mood was still dampened at first breakfast, and when her mother asked her what was wrong, she just showed her wrist. 

“Oh dear!”

Bella nodded grimly.

“At least he’s rich, so maybe you can get your own bedroom”, her father said drily, and Bella wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. 

“Very funny.”

“Give him a chance”, her mother said, patting Bella’s hand. “He was a wild child, but so were you. I’m sure he has changed for the better.”

Well, it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Better try and make the best of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Bella hoped against all reason that she had somehow misinterpreted the mark, that it was different from Weasel’s. 

Right up until the moment when she greeted him at the door. She looked at him and just ... knew. There was a strange pull, like an invisible rope. He was her soulmate, no doubt about it. 

She stuffed the wrapped pink bow she had still hoped to need in the pocket of her apron and gave him the handkerchief she had selected that morning. 

“Don’t you have anything better for your soulmate?” he sneered after unwrapping it, and this time, she didn’t enjoy his annoyance as much as she would usually have. 

“Well, forgive me”, she said stiffly. “I hardly had the time to prepare anything, my mark only appeared this morning.” It wasn’t always the case, she had to give him that, as the appearance of the mark seemed to be tied to the time of conception, and only appear in time if you were born exactly on time. If the midwife had to use ergot because of pregnancy complications, the mark could come in after the birthday. The reverse if a child decided to stay in the womb longer than usual. 

Bella wished she had been born early. That would have spared her this thoroughly ruined birthday. 

Someone cleared his throat, and Bella, glad for the distraction, turned to greet her next visitor. “The seeds you gave me are the best!”, she exclaimed. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything as nice for you.” As interesting as the stone with the natural hole in its middle was to Bella, she doubted the recipient would find as much joy in it as she did in the beautiful flowers, but at least she had found something from outside the Shire, something new and interesting, to match the gift. 

The smile fell from her face when she remembered what had started her tradition of giving Weasel girly gifts – he had given her a hideous hair tie, even though she had worn her hair short back then. 

Now that she was of age, she had allowed it to grow, grudgingly, but she still never used any of Weasel’s gifts. 

Bella tried to enjoy her birthday. She really did. With Weasel following her everywhere, it was difficult.   
When he praised the food, it was with the unspoken expectation that she would cook for him in the future. When he passed her the cake, it was only to touch her hands as if by accident.   
The worst was that his touches felt ... good, in a way. Like the absence of a pain she had not noticed before. 

It only made her more angry. Why did this happen to her, of all people? Certainly there were some who wouldn’t have minded Weasel as soulmate. 

When the dancing started, Weasel became even more obnoxious. One time, he all but shoved Bella’s dancing partner out of his way before grabbing her hands!

 

Finally it was time for the guests to leave, and while Bella was usually sad to see them go, this time, she was not. 

Weasel lingered longer than was polite, but finally he left, too.


	3. Chapter 3

After a night filled with very unwelcome dreams, for which Bella wholly blamed the new mark on her wrist, she felt a tiny bit better. 

Weasel would have to agree that they both had to want to make this work if they didn’t want to become unhappy ever after. And, alright, maybe she shouldn’t call him Weasel in her mind, but childhood nicknames had a way of sticking, and besides, he was so ... weaselly. 

 

Bella didn’t have to wait for long to give him a piece of her mind, too – he called for tea, and, after some small talk with her family, asked her to accompany him on a walk. 

She frowned when he grabbed her elbow as soon as they were out of the door, but didn’t comment. It would not do to make a scene in public. 

They followed the path to the little wood, and thus safely out of sight of any witnesses, Bella withdrew her elbow. “You can’t do this, you know”, she stated firmly. “If we are to be stuck with each other, you need to behave in a more ... civil way.”

“What? You are the one who won’t acknowledge that I’m your soulmate.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t play coy, you feel it, too.”

Bella fumed. Why, yes, her body seemed to find the whole situation rather agreeable, but she, most definitely, did not. 

“We haven’t been exactly close those past few years”, she explained, struggling to free herself from his grip. “You cannot expect ...”

“We are soulmates now!” 

When his lips touched hers, Bella’s mouth was firmly shut. 

“Wild as ever.” Weasel chuckled at his own joke, if it was meant to be a joke. “I will have to tame you.”

“Westley Wormdigger, if you do not let go of me this instant –“

“Then what?” 

Before Bella could even react, he had toppled her over and was lying on top of her, his hands slipping under her skirts. 

She was so shocked it took her some time to realize what he ... he must intend to do to her. There was no other explanation. “Stop that, right now! We are not married!”

“Yet ...” Weasel grinned. 

Bella kneed him in the groin, then headbutted him, and after stumbling to her knees ran away without looking back. 

It was a sunny day, that would otherwise have been quite pleasant, but Bella hardly noticed. She climbed a tree and sat there until her hands stopped trembling, and then walked a bit, before climbing another tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Westley is an invention of mine. He had to have a nickname as to disguise the fact he is not a known character ... but I can't seem to fool my readers, anyway. 
> 
> I hope you don't mind that this is, therefore, yet another story with an entirely predictable ending. :(


	4. Chapter 4

Bungo Baggins was miserable. Of course, he didn’t let anyone notice. He had smiled all through Bell’s birthday party, even after the shock with which it had started. Even after he had asked Bell to dance with him and Weasel had shoved him away. 

He had gotten up the day after, even though he felt like staying in bed forever, had gotten dressed and tended to the garden as if nothing had happened. 

And nothing had. He had never really dared to hope that Belladonna Took might be destined for him. She had been a wild child, like Westley, and the two obviously were a good match. 

Bell would have died of boredom if she had gotten stuck with Bungo Baggins. 

Still. Westley was rude and pushy, and had insulted Bell. On her birthday, no less! Complained about a gift! The impertinence of it! Why, Bungo would have gotten quite the tongue-lashing by his mother if he had ever ... but he had never felt the slightest temptation to be rude to Bell. 

Her gift to him was beautiful, and his only comfort that day. The average hobbit did not take much of an interest in stones if they weren’t usable in a garden wall, but Bungo knew of Bell’s love for all things unusual, and a stone with a naturally occuring hole was something she would have treasured. 

He was just sitting on the edge of his bed, unable to sleep, turning the beautiful stone in his hands once again, when he heard a noise on his window. A noise like hail scattering against the glass. But the sky had been blue at sunset ...

Bungo stood up and pressed his face to the glass to be able to see something in the darkness outside. 

There was a face, a pale and very familiar face. 

Bungo grabbed his dressing gown, closed it over his nightgown and fastened the belt securely, then opened the window. “Bells?”

She just nodded. Her lip was trembling. Never in his life had Bungo seen her so upset. “Bells, are you alright?”

She obviously was not, and when she didn’t answer, he asked “What happened?”

“Weasel happened”, she replied, her voice full of fury and something he could not quite place. “He ... he ... tried to ... force himself on me.”

Bungo did not quite understand what exactly she was talking about, but she was upset, and that was what mattered. 

“Come in”, he offered, very inappropriately. His parents had retired for the night, though, and would be sound asleep. He hoped the same was true for his siblings. Bell had never been one for propriety and would not complain. 

Effortlessly, Bell glided through the open window, then shut it securely. 

“Have a seat.” Bungo drew back his desk chair. “Can ... can I do anything for you?” He would have done everything for her. Everything. But she was fated to love Weasel. Who had done something horrible to her. So horrible that Bell was still trembling. 

“You can”; she whispered, more falling into the chair than sitting down. “But ... I cannot ask you to ...”

“Ask away.” He straightened his shoulders. If there was anything he could do to make her feel better, anything at all – why, he would go as far as to get into a fist fight with Weasel, even though he would certainly lose, not only the fight but also some teeth. 

“Your soul mark still hasn’t come in, has it?” Bell asked quietly. 

“No – it has not, and it probably will not. I was born exactly on time, so there is no reason for a delay. I am unmarked.” Fated to be a lonely old bachelor. He wouldn’t mind so much, if ... if it didn’t mean Bell would have to marry the Weasel.   
Not that he would claim to be in love with her, such violent passions being quite alien to him, but he certainly held her in very high regard, and would have done his best to allow her to be happy in spite of him. Weasel, apparently, did not share the sentiment. 

“And there is no unmarked woman whom you fancy?”

“No, there is not.” She should know, after all, they were close enough for him to mention something like that to her. Or at least he thought so. “But we should talk about you!”

“I have”, Bell said firmly “A plan that could save me. However, your role in this plan would involve danger, and pain beyond your imagination, and also ... it would be illegal.”

“That is unfortunate, but I suppose it cannot be avoided in such a situation. What would you have me do?”

She breathed deeply, still shaking. “The dwarf blacksmith in Bree”, she whispered. “He has a second trade, which he keeps secret from everyone but other dwarves. He can ... paint skin, but in such a way that it doesn’t wash off.”

“Like a soulmark.”

Bell nodded. “He uses needles for it, and from what I saw it is rather painful, but ... if ...”

“You would have me ... get your soulmark painted on my skin?” he whispered reverently. Her soulmark – what an undeserved honour! And yet, compared to the Weasel, he was certainly more deserving. 

“I know it is ... too much too ask, and I have no right, and ...”

“And I owe you more than I can ever repay.” The other children, not just Weasel, though he had been the worst, had liked to make fun of the ‘boring badger’ as they had called him, but whenever Bell was there, he had been safe. Much as she liked to tease and make fun of others, she had never been malicious, and when she had noticed that he didn’t like the teasing, that it made him cry, she had stopped and never tried again. 

“Don’t be melodramatic”, Bell scolded, but her voice was still weak. 

Bungo shrugged. He had not meant to exaggerate, it was merely a factual statement. “I have never been to Bree. How fast could I get there?”

“You ... will do it?”

“Of course.” As if there had ever been any doubt. “Now, tell me more about your plan.”


	5. Chapter 5

The blacksmith in Bree was rather surprised to find a young hobbit couple waiting when he opened his shop window. If he was not much mistaken, the lad was a gentlehobbit, while the lass looked a bit disheveled. Odd. 

“Good morning!” the lass said in a cheerful voice that sounded somehow fake. “Can we come inside?”

“What do you need? Suddenly ran out of cooking pots this morning?” He opened the door, as it paid to be polite to potential customers, even such strange ones as those, who were up before him, and seemed to have foregone breakfast, which was decidedly a strange thing for hobbits to do. 

“Nothing like that”, the lass said quietly after the couple had entered the shop. “We have come for your ... other trade.”

“I have no other trade”, he lied. He had been warned that hobbits were very odd about tattoos – weird reactions, and it might be a cultural taboo, meaning that a dwarf who offered such services could be .... well, possibly sentenced to death, althogh hobbits were a peaceful people and he had never witnessed any executions. It certainly would mean fewer customers. 

“You have”, the lass insisted. “We won’t tell anyone, and it is in our best interest that you keep your second trade a secret, but I happen to have seen it. Those pictures some dwarves have on their skin don’t appear just like that.”

“Why would you want to look like a dwarf?” He folded his arms before his chest and gave the hobbit lass his best glare. 

“I have no patience for this”, the lass huffed. “I heard that you dwarves are masters of whatever craft you choose, and would like to know if you can imitate this.” She rolled her sleeve back to reveal a very intricate tattoo. 

A hobbit with a tattoo. And he had thought he had seen everything!

“Can you do it?”, the lad asked quietly. “I would have the same pattern on my wrist, at the very same place.”

“Well ...” The lad would quite probably be able to pay well, if his good quality clothes were anything to judge by. “I do think so, but I would want to talk to you, alone, first.”

The lass frowned. “Whyever would this be necessary?”

“If I am to put something on his skin, I have to know whether he’s been ill recently and such stuff. You two don’t seem to be married yet, so those personal things are not for you to hear. You can wait here.”

He dragged the lad into the backroom, and closed the door behind them just as the lass said “Hurt him, and I’ll have your head.”

 

“Quite the spirited lass she is.” In fact, he could see what the lad saw in her, which was a rarity. Maybe female hobbits only displayed qualities like steely determination and a will of iron if trying to impress a potential mate – the ones he had met before had not been nearly as feminine. Still. “Listen, if you don’t want this, I can invent some condition that makes it impossible to give you at tattoo.”

“I want it.”

“You sure? You can’t wash that sort of thing off, you know. If she demands that you prove your love by getting a tattoo, she’s not worth it.”

“It ... it is not like that.” Finally, the hobbit lad looked him straight in the eyes. “I would do anything for her. Anything. She did not demand this, I volunteered. So, what do you need to ask me?”

“If you get hurt, do you bleed unusually much?”

“No.”

“Do you get bruised more easily than others do?”

“No.”

“Good, let me have a look at your wrist, then.” 

Without hesitation, the hobbit lad turned his arm around. It was all pale, unblemished skin. Perfect. 

“There is more behind that than you tell me, aye?”

“Yes. There is, but please ...”

Those damned big eyes. Hobbits were such ridiculously small and weak creatures that he always felt protective about them, and this one was especially bad. “Alright, but I will have to ask your sweetheart some questions.”

He opened the door and beckoned the lass to come in. 

When she had done so, he bolted the door. “There is a secret behind all this”, he stated. “You will tell me, in addition to my payment.”

The lass stared at him for some time, then nodded. “Alright. But you do it first, and then I tell you. The picture needs to be perfect. Not a line out of place!”

This was getting more and more suspicious. “The payment first.”

“You get your gold first, and your answers after.”

Something told him she wouldn’t change her mind on that, so he nodded. “Fine. Now, let’s see that picture you have there.”

He took her delicate wrist in his hand and looked at the picture. There was something ... wrong about it. “This is a hazelnut there, in the middle.”

“Yes?”

“And it’s ... there’s a worm in it.” He had thought hobbits loved their plants, and their food. “Why would you get such an ugly ...” and more importantly “Where did you get that?” For all he knew, he was the only dwarf who had taken permanent residence in Bree, and he would know if any master of his art had taken up residence anywhere in the Shire. The picture was intricate, the smallest flowers interwoven with each other. He could do something like that, and he knew a few others who could, but they all lived in the mountains, where such a trade paid good money. 

“You get your answers after it is done. It is only fair, as we risk something by paying you upfront.”

“You accuse me of dishonesty?”

“Not more than you do the same with us.” She sighed. “Listen, I know I ask for something illegal, but this sort of thing is so uncommon among hobbits that they wouldn’t even know it is possible. They wouldn’t know how to punish you, and likely wouldn’t punish anyone but us.”

“They would punish you for getting a tattoo?”

“Answers later.”

“I am not going to copy that nut.” Something about the whole picture made him uneasy, but the symbol of decay was the only sensible reason for his discomfort. Unless dark magic ... but no, those were hobbits. Tiny creatures with furry feet. 

“That is alright, if you can change it on my wrist, you can copy the changed picture on his. They just have to be identical.”

“This will take some hours. And it will cost you.”

“How much?”

“Eight hours, and one ounce of gold, coins or jewellery.”

Without hesitation, the lass took a pouch from her pocket and placed it on the table. “This should be enough.”

He opened the pouch, removed the silver coins, and weighed the gold coins in his hand. “Seems so.”

This was getting more and more mysterious. His prices were high, and men usually complained, not wanting to spend that much money on mere decoration. Dwarves knew the worth of his services, but hobbits ... they usually paid him in copper coins for their pots and kettles and garden shovels and other blacksmith work. 

“Now, if this is going to take eight hours, you better start now.”

He nodded. “You first. Put your hand here. Apparently you did this before, so you can’t be prone to excess bleeding.” He fastened the leather straps around her arm. Once, one customer had flinched because there had been a fly on his nose, and the whole picture had been ruined. Not that the eyes of Men would even notice, but a dwarf could see. Thus, leather straps now fastened whatever body part he did his art on. 

“I cannot make this nut whole ...” One would see that a change had been made, and he just could not have that. Not when the one who had done this tattoo had clearly been a master – one who lacked taste, but still. “I could change it into a different sort of nut.”

“Then do that. Just as long as one cannot see it has been painted over. ”

He huffed. As if he would allow that to happen!

Preparing the needles and the colour took some time, but finally he was ready to start. 

While not exactly painful, the process was somewhat uncomfortable, and Men tended to whine a bit. Not this hobbit lass. Her lips were a thin line, but she didn’t say a word while he worked. 

He was quite happy with the result. No one would have noticed that the centre of the pattern had been a worm-infested hazelnut before. It now looked as if it had always been a walnut. 

The lass frowned when he put an ointment on her arm. “How long will this take to heal?”

“You don’t remember? Keep it covered for a couple of days. No bathing. I tell you more later. For the time being, put your arm on the table so that I can see what I have to copy.”

He had, after all, work to do. “Now, your turn, lad. Still sure you want it?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the blacksmith is someone we know ... I just couldn't decide which dwarf. Obviously Dwalin would have to be one of the customers, so it can't be Dwalin. (By the way, it is totally Dwalin's fault that Belladonna knows where to get a tattoo. He didn't notice he was being followed by a curious hobbit)


	6. Chapter 6

Bungo had to think of Weasel to keep himself from smiling while the blacksmith fastened his arm to the table. 

Bell had changed her soulmark! There was no turning back now, he would wear the exact copy of her soulmark for the rest of his life.   
It made him ridiculously happy. 

He would, of course, not ask her to marry him. While rare, it did happen that soulmates didn’t get married.   
Of course, such an arrangement was only possible if the soulmates consented that this was the best course of action. Weasel would never have consented to let Bell alone, and changing her mark, in all likelihood, would have been exposed as fraud. With his to match, though, Weasel would be the odd one out. 

Slowly, as if by magic, the pattern appeared on his skin, each tiny part of it driven into his skin by a needle. Bell had told him it would be painful, but it was not. Not exactly comfortable either, but also not the burning pain he had been prepared to endure. 

The blacksmith didn’t even interrupt his work for lunch, and Bungo wouldn’t have eaten, either, if Bell had not insisted that he eat the last of the food they had with them. 

Late in the afternoon, the blacksmith lit a candle, then continued work, even though, to Bungo, the picture seemed complete. 

The sunlight was red when the blacksmith finally nodded his approval. “That will do.”

Bell inspected the picture, comparing it to her own. “This is perfect”, she whispered in awe. 

“Good work has its price. Now I get my answers.”

To Bungo’s relief, Bell did the talking, while the blacksmith showed them how to treat the not-quite wounds his art had caused. 

“Hobbits don’t know about this sort of thing”, she explained. “The one on my wrist – no one did it.”

“What?!” The dwarf looked at her as if she had just grown another head. 

“They just appear. I was rather shocked when I saw a dwarf whose whole body was covered in this kind of picture, and first thought something went terribly wrong with him ...”

Bungo smiled. Of course, Bell would have investigated the matter. 

“They just appear?” the blacksmith echoed. “But that ... that’s magic.” The disapproval in his voice was clear. 

“I wouldn’t say that”, Bell replied. “It happens to most hobbits when they come of age, no one knows why, but hobbits don’t do magic. Bungo here is an exception, he didn’t get a mark. It happens sometimes.”

A frown appeared on the dwarf’s face. “You wanted him to blend in?”

“The ... the mark ...” Bell bit her lip. They didn’t tell this to outsiders, and the crime she was committing at this very moment was unthinkable. Bungo admired how calm she remained. 

“It decides whom we marry”, she finally said. “Have to marry.”

“Sounds like dark magic to me”, the dwarf replied, frown deepening. “So, I take it you two want to marry, but couldn’t because he lacks a mark?”

Bungo nodded. 

“And now there’s a very sad hobbit lad with a mark and no lass who has the same?”

“He won’t be sad, he’ll be angry”, Bell said defiantly. “And he deserves no better. You must never tell anyone.”

There were some terrible moments of uncertainty, but finally, the dwarf nodded. “I will tell neither hobbit, nor man, nor dwarf, nor elf about this.”

“Good!” A small smile appeared on Bell’s face. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Bungo returned home, he was wet, cold and hungry. In short, he was just uncomfortable enough to manage pretending to be absolutely miserable. 

Shoulders hanging, he shuffled to the round door in the hill and knocked. 

Moments later, he found himself in his mother’s arms. “Where have you been! We have been so worried!”

“I wrote a note”, he mumbled. 

“That note said nothing of your whereabouts! Just that you were shocked to discover your soulmark. What can be so shocking about it?!

“I ...” he started quietly. “I know that you don’t approve of my friendship with Belladonna Took, and ...”

“Belladonna Took? But she’s Westley Wormdigger’s soulmate.”

After wrestling out of his mother’s hug, Bungo unwrapped the handkerchief that covered his wrist. “That’s one of the reasons why I ran away”, he replied, truthfully. “Can you imagine what he’d say if he saw this?”

“Oh. Oh dear!” His mother examined the picture. “This looks very much like Belladonna’s. But it might be someone else’s.” She hugged him again. “If it’s Belladonna’s, we will cope. There’s no need to do something stupid!”

“Thank you.”

“Just marry her and bring her here, and we will make a proper Baggins out of her in no time.”

Bungo didn’t say that he didn’t want Belladonna to become a proper Baggins, he didn’t say that a proper Baggins girl would have married the Weasel as everyone expected her to, and would never, ever, have followed a dwarf to the forge and eavesdropped on conversations in order to find out why he seemed to have more than one soulmark. 

What he did say, however, was “You really don’t object?”

“There’s no use in objecting if it is your destiny. But the Thain will have to sort this one out. Mr. Wormdigger already asked him to intervene.”

“Why?” This was news. Was it not Weasel who had wronged Bell?

“He says she rejected his proposal and punched him in the face.”

Bungo had to suppress a chuckle. That sounded so very much like Bell. However, that Weasel had complained about her didn’t bode well. Would his faked soulmark pass closer examination? “Maybe she rejected him because he isn’t really her soulmate. I shall go and see her once I have changed clothes.”

“That will not be possible, she has gone missing after she punched Mr. Wormdigger. Besides, you need a hot bath and a proper meal before you can do anything at all!”

“Gone missing?!” Bungo did his best to sound surprised. 

“Ran away, probably to escape her punishment.”

“She could have drowned in the river!” Bungo exclaimed. “Or been eaten by wolves!” It was not hard to make his voice sound panicked, he just had to think of the night when he had seen her pale face at his bedroom window. “As her soulmate, it is my duty to ...”

“After taking a bath and eating dinner.”

Bungo obediently let himself be pushed towards the bathroom. Poor Bell was sitting in a tree in the woods, soaked to the skin, hungry and cold, but he knew that she was safe. She was too clever for the wolves, and unlike most hobbits, she could actually swim. 

About two hours later, it was already getting dark outside, Bungo finally stood up from the dinner table. “I have to find my soulmate.”

That his father and brother would insist on coming had not been part of Bell’s plan, but Bungo hoped it would not matter .


	8. Chapter 8

Bella was cold and wet and hungry. Also, she had gone through three of Bungo’s handkerchiefs already, and would soon have to use her sleeve to blow her nose. 

Good old Bungo. He was boring, yes – the whole Baggins family was so predictable, that you could usually tell the whole course of a conversation with one of them in advance – but he also was reliable. 

Bella pondered whether the fact that he could be relied upon in emergencies such as hers was part of his Baggins heritage, or rather an exception. On one hand, the Baggins family prided themselves on keeping a stiff upper lip in all circumstances. And helping the neighbours was something they did. On the other hand, what Bungo had done to help her had been illegal. So illegal it was not even written down it was not allowed, but still. Forging a soulmark could not be legal. 

Maybe it was a sort of loophole? As no one had ever stated that it was not allowed, there had been nothing to prevent Bungo from doing it. Except concerns for his own wellbeing, that was. 

A voice startled Bella. Quickly, she put the handkerchief into her apron pocket. If anyone caught her with Bungo’s handkerchiefs, it would ruin everything. 

She listened to the voices. They did sound somewhat familiar, but she could not quite place them. It was not until Bungo said something that Bella realized he must have taken his family members to “search” for her. 

“Hello?” she called. “Who is there?”

The Bagginses confirmed their identities, and Bella climbed down the tree. “Thank Yavanna”, she said with trembling voice. “I thought ... I thought ...” Breaking into tears was not easy, but Bella had practised a lot when she had been little. Being able to cry on purpose was extremely helpful to get away with pranks.   
The thought of how she had ruined Bungo’s life helped, too. 

“There, there, everything will be alright, now.” Bungo handed her a clean handkerchief. “It was all a misunderstanding.”

“A mis-?“ She sneezed and burrowed her nose in the white handkerchief with the initials B.B. 

“ I heard that Wormdigger complained about you rejecting him. You didn’t really feel that he was your soulmate, did you?” 

Bella hid her smile in the handkerchief. She had not known that Bungo was such a good actor. “No – and he ... he insisted that ... and he wouldn’t even wait until we’re married.” 

Mungo and his second eldest son exchanged knowing glances and their expressions hardened, while Bungo removed the handkerchief he had bound around the fresh tattoo on his wrist. 

“Here – does this look like yours?”

Bella stared at it, wide-eyed, then pulled back her sleeve to compare. “It ... it does ... does that mean ...”

“Don’t you worry, lass.” Mungo patted her shoulder. “My Bungo is a proper gentlehobbit and will treat you right.”

“Thank you, Mister Baggins” she whispered. “For everything. I didn’t dare come down, because ...” She blew her nose. This cold came in handy when pretending to be crying, at least. 

 

On their way back, they encountered the group of Shirriffs that her father had sent out to look for her, and, shortly after, her father himself. 

Bella hurled herself into his arms like she had only done as small girl. “Please ... tell me I won’t have to marry Weasel. Please!”

While her father patted her back, Bungo explained the situation, and Mungo hinted darkly that “Mr. Wormdigger did not behave like a gentlehobbit ought to.”

“He asked me to make you marry him ...” her father began, and Bella made a wailing noise. “But if he is indeed not your soulmate, the law is on your side.”

 

He called one of the Shirriffs to act as witness, and asked Bungo to show his wrist. “I ... got a bit upset when it appeared”, Bungo mumbled, blushing. “I, er, scratched a bit.” A very clever way to explain away the irritated skin. 

Bell knew he blushed because he was lying, but her father must assume it was because of the implication that wild Belladonna Took was not a good bride for the proper Baggins boy. 

She held her breath. 

“They are exactly the same”, her father stated finally. “Do you agree?”

Everyone nodded, and the Shirriff was sent to inform Westley Wormdigger about this turn of events, while Bella’s father invited the Bagginses to supper. 

When her mother greeted her with a bone-crushing hug and many exclamations of relief, Bella realized that her parents had been worried. Like, really worried. True, after Weasel’s attack she had been too upset to return home immediately. But she could have said something, instead of just sneaking into her room to get the money from her dowry box and vanishing again. 

“I always come back”, she defended herself. “You know I can take care of myself.”

“You caught a cold. That’s not what I call taking care of yourself!” her mother scolded. “Get out of those wet clothes, and go to bed.”

“But ...” Everything was at stake! She couldn’t just go to bed! 

“Bungo Baggins will understand that your health is more important than this soulmark business. It can wait until tomorrow.”

“But what if Weasel ...” A sneeze interrupted her. 

“Your father can sort that out by himself.”

Resigned, Bella went to the bathroom, to wash off the remains of Weasel’s touches, with soap, even if the rain had likely washed every single drop of his sweat and spittle away. She just felt like scrubbing her face and hands with soap. 

After that, she did as her mother had told her, went to bed, and snuggled against the wonderfully warm hot-water bottle her mother had placed there.


	9. Chapter 9

Bungo Baggins came calling very punctually for second breakfast the next day. He brought a bunch of flowers and smiled more happily than a man who had been forced into a forged soulmate marriage had any business being. 

Truly, he must be a great actor. 

Having checked in the mirror, Bella was quite aware that she looked terrible. Her mother and younger sisters had done their best to comb and tame her hair, but there was only so much one could do against a nose red from sneezing. Thinking of which, there still was the secret stash with Bungo’s handkerchiefs to be taken care of. Maybe she could put them with the other laundry when he had left, claiming that he had been really, really generous. (Which he had been, just a bit earlier than she wanted everyone to believe)

There were no surprises when you had a Baggins as guest. He praised the food, ate exactly enough to make his appreciation clear, but not so much that others had to go hungry.

When Bella offered to show him the garden, he agreed with a bit more enthusiasm than she would have expected. Strange. 

“I am sorry”, she said, as soon as they were out of her family’s hearing range. “I didn’t ... I thought your parents wouldn’t approve and you would be able to get out of marrying me.”

He looked at her with true surprise in his innocent eyes. “Bells, dearest, you need not feel sorry for me. The only thing that worries me are my mother’s plans to change you.”

“Change me?” In what way would his mother change her? 

“She would teach you to stay at home, keep house, and always do what is expected of you.” He shook his head. “I like to stay at home, keep house, and I find that routines make life considerably easier, but ... that’s not the life you want, is it?”

“No ...” She had had plans. Become a spinster, travel the world, and cause lots of scandals. But considering recent events ... she shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to marry Weasel, I will be content. Speaking of which, he has asked for an appointment with my father, and wants to have his soulmark compared to mine.”

“He will not succeed.”

“I should hope so. Still ... if I can ask this of you ...”

“You can.” Bungo looked at her earnestly. “Whatever you want.”

Bella swallowed. He was a true friend, and she was really selfish to demand all this ... still, this last request was probably the least bad. “I would want to get married as soon as possible.”

“Of course. May I?” Bungo lifted his arm, and at her nod, he placed it around her shoulders. “We shall get married at your earliest convenience. But we cannot live with my parents. I will build a home for you.”

“You will ...?” She blinked. 

“I am not used to hard work, I admit that, but I own a lot of books on the traditions of smial-building. With some help, I should be able to have a small number of rooms ready before winter.” He gave her an awkward smile. “If a smial is not too old-fashioned for you, that is?”

“No, of course not.” True, her ambition had always been for a tree house, like the elves were rumoured to build, but after Weasel’s attack, she often had moments when she just wanted to hide in a hole, curl up and cry. An underground home seemed rather close to what she needed. “Will you stay for Weasel’s visit?”

“If your father allows it, I will.”

 

Of course, Gerontius Took allowed it, and a good thing it was, for Bell’s hand was shaking all the time while the horrid hobbit looked at it. 

“It didn’t look like this last time I saw it”, the Weasel insisted. “It looked like mine!”

“Belladonna?” The Thain’s voice was gentle. 

“I ... I was so sure it was the same as his, I didn’t pay attention to the details”, Bell sobbed, and it broke Bungo’s heart to know that she wasn’t pretending to be upset. 

“This is ridiculous”, he interrupted the questioning. “Our soulmarks are identical. If hers has, indeed changed, then maybe because you didn’t behave like a gentlehobbit ought to.” The law, sadly, was on Weasel’s side; matching soulmarks were considered as good as marriage, and as long as Bell had no visible injuries ... there wasn’t much to be done. 

If Gerontius Took were free to do as he pleased, Bungo had no doubt he would have Weasel punished, but in truth, the Thain was a mere servant of the law, and the law was what most hobbits considered good and proper. 

Not getting to marry Bella would have to suffice as punishment, even though Bungo was not sure the horrid hobbit even realized what a loss that was. 

Weasel fumed. “You ... you ... she painted over it! That’s it! I demand that you scrub her wrist with soap!” 

Bungo swallowed. Bell had told him it wouldn’t come off, but what if it did? 

The Thain sighed. “Very well, if you deem that necessary. If it doesn’t come off, which I am quite sure will be the outcome, then I ask you to leave. You have insulted my daughter quite enough for one day.”

A bowl of soap water was fetched by one of Bell’s brothers, and with much ado, she washed her hands. 

The soap foam remained as white as ever. 

The Thain clapped his hands. “There. Now, please leave.”

A Baggins would never have done something as rude as asking a guest to leave, but Bungo felt he approved with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am too predictable. *sigh*. Congratulations to Yoru_Hana for correctly predicting what Bungo would say - it was written before you mentioned it! 
> 
> I hope my description of tattoos is right; I'd never get one myself, but I assume they don't change when scrubbed with soap, even if they're not completely healed.


	10. Chapter 10

The earliest possible date for the wedding was two months after Bell’s birthday, and Bungo watched with dread the change that came over his bride. 

She lost weight, and instead of exploring the woods and hills outside Hobbiton, as had been her wont, she rarely ever left the house. 

In fact, she only ever left the enclosure of her parents’ garden when Bungo came to take her for a walk. And then she clung to him as if for dear life. Not that he minded her hands on his elbow, far from it. Yet the touch, that would have brought him such happiness otherwise, was tainted. 

He did not understand what was happening. Had he not, too, participated in a fraud so extraordinary that no one had even thought to make a law against it? And was he not a coward, while she was the bravest hobbit he knew of?

It was true, she had not gained anything from executing her plan, just escaped a worse fate, while he had all reason to be cheerful. He had always wanted to marry. Bell ... not so much. 

And still. It just wasn’t like her, to be so frightened. 

 

Bungo did everything in his power to cheer Bell up. He took her for picnics to possible building sites for their smial, and then, after work had begun, to the building site.   
When she helped with the digging, advising him what kind of clothes to wear and how to keep his hands from getting blisters, he saw her former self shine through. 

And still. And still. There was the uncomfortable feeling that he had missed something. That something had happened of which he did not know. 

When he asked what he could do, she always assured him that she would be happy once they were married. 

Bungo did not quite believe it, but what could he do?

 

In the night before the wedding, his brothers took him to an inn with the stated purpose of getting him drunk. He refused at first, but then gave in – if it made them happy, he could get a bit tipsy. 

His brothers got drunk, likewise, and they, being much more worldly than he was, took it upon themselves to explain to him the details of what he was expected to do in his wedding night. 

“... and maybe it hurts her a bit, but that’s normal ...”

_“No – and he ... he insisted that ... and he wouldn’t even wait until we’re married.”_

 

Bungo went pale. “Ex ... excuse me.” 

He just managed to get out of the door before he emptied his stomach onto the begonias next to the inn’s entrance. 

When Bell had told him, he had thought ... attempts to kiss her, maybe. Not ... this.

Bungo wiped his mouth with one of his handkerchiefs – no, not his. Oh dear, it was one Bell had gifted him! 

That realization brought about a new bout of nausea, but this time, he managed not to throw up. He straightened himself. So. That was what Weasel had done. 

Come morning, this horrid excuse for a hobbit would not live to see dawn. 

“Bungo?” His brothers had followed him outside. “Everything alright?”

“I will kill him.”

“Whom?”

“Whom? Weasel, of course.” Righteous anger coursed through his veins. He was not afraid anymore. Weasel deserved death, and death, he would get. 

“Bungo, please, be sensible. You don’t stand a chance against him.”

“I will try.” Justice would prevail. It could not be any other way. 

“It is illegal to kill a fellow hobbit.”

“I don’t care.”

“You are drunk.”

“Doesn’t matter. “

“Your wedding is due in eight hours, you should get some sleep. Think of how mortified Belladonna would be if you were to be drunk at your wedding!”

Bungo blinked. Bell. He didn’t want Bell to be embarrassed because of him. Maybe he should postpone the killing. Oh dear! You couldn’t have a wedding when someone had died shortly before. He had quite forgotten about that. No, Weasel’s funeral would have to take place after the wedding. It was better he died some days after, as to not overshadow the happy day. Yes. 

 

In the morning, he felt like he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, but at least he was not drunk anymore. 

Had he really planned to kill Weasel? And if so, why?

Oh. Right. Right. 

A bucket of ice water could not have had a more sobering effect. Bungo was out of his bed in no time. He had to get dressed. Properly. And be punctual. Bell didn’t deserve anything less than a perfect wedding.


	11. Chapter 11

A wave of relief washed over Bella when she had said her vows. Now there was only one thing lacking, and then she would be safe from Weasel forever. 

Not the kind of happiness a bride ought to feel, perhaps, but it would do.

When the celebration started, she looked for Weasel everywhere, to be able to avoid him, but he wasn’t there. He just wasn’t there. 

In the evening, Bella almost enjoyed the dancing. Almost. Bungo didn’t seem very happy, either, so she asked him if he’d mind if they went to bed early. 

“No, not at all”, was his reply, and so, they set out for their new home, which at this time only had one bedroom. 

But it was home, and it had a very good and sturdy door, and window shutters would withstand an orc attack.   
Bella shut the door and fastened the bolts, then looked around. It was a very cosy home, all things considered. The dining room was not big, but there was a fireplace here, of carved stone, and the walls were of solid wood, polished to shine. 

“Bells?”

She smiled at the nickname. Only Bungo had ever shortened her name to this. (Of course after asking politely whether he was allowed to do so). “Yes?”

“You said you would be yourself again, after the wedding ... are you?”

Oh, he was so sweet with his concern for her wellbeing. She didn’t deserve him, and even less did she deserve what she would ask of him. “There is but one thing missing.” 

“What is it?” There was suspicion in his voice, for the first time ever. 

Bella sighed. “Well, the wedding night, obviously. I read father’s law texts. A marriage can be declared void if this hasn’t taken place.”

At this, Bungo paled. “No.”

“No, you don’t want to sleep with me, or no, you don’t want the marriage to be declared void?” She was rather sure it was the former – and she would, of course, not insist. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him that it was necessary. 

He blushed. Probably the only male hobbit of his age who would blush at such topics. And the only one who would even hesitate to bed his bride. It was one of the reasons why she valued his friendship so much. He was special. 

“It ... it is not really sleeping, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “And I ... you must think me very naive, but it was only when my brothers explained to me what the wedding night would entail, that I realized what Weasel must have done to you. I cannot ... I cannot do that to you.”

“Oh.” How sweet! She was quite sure he was absolutely unable to do something that came even close to Weasel’s behaviour. “Well, if it makes you feel better ... he just tried to. He didn’t succeed.”

“No?” Hope dawned on his face. 

“I kicked him in the, er, sensitive parts, so to speak.” And she should have done so much sooner. Now it seemed so obvious where his behaviour had been leading, why he wanted to get her alone ... 

She was shaking again, but only noticed it because Bungo put his arm around her and helplessly patted her shoulder. 

“I just ... I never ... I thought no one would do ... this. Weasel was a little pest when we were children, but ... I was too. I never thought he would ...” She snuggled in the warm embrace of her husband. Her husband. She was safe. No need to demand anything more of him than he already gave her. 

“I thought”, Bungo began. “I thought I would have to kill him. But maybe, if he didn’t ... maybe I can let him live.”

“Do that. I have no desire to see you exiled.” She smiled fondly. Bungo wouldn’t stand a chance, not if he faced Weasel in an open fight, but she wouldn’t tell him that. It was the sentiment that counted, and besides, she wouldn’t put it past him to hit Weasel over the head with a gardening shovel. There was more to him than met the eye. 

“Will you sleep in the bed with me? Just sleeping? And, if someone asks, you would have to tell them that we did it.”

“If someone asks”,he replied, blushing again. “I will just tell them that it is none of their business!”

“Ah, well, that will probably do, too, just as long as you sound like there is something you don’t want to tell them.” Admittedly, it sounded much more like something Bungo would say. Of course he would refuse to talk about his wedding night. It was not proper, after all, to talk about such things. 

When she stepped out of his embrace and started to undress, he turned his back towards her, and Bella looked at him for a long time, before she said quietly: “You should know what I look like naked, if people are to believe you slept with me.”

“I know what you look like. You have this little mole on your belly.”

She smiled. That he remembered that! They had been mere children, bathing in one of the shallow parts of the river. “But you have never seen a naked adult woman, have you?”

Finally, he turned around. “Well, no, but I can see your, er, bosom, while you’re clothed, and ...” He didn’t finish the sentence. 

“You told me there is no lass you have taken a fancy to, so I assumed it would be alright with you – but of course, you don’t have to.” She started to unfasten the bodice she wore over her shirt. Strange, she had never considered that he might object. She had felt very queasy about getting naked in front of Weasel, or more, when that had still been an option.   
Bungo was just ... well, he was just a sweetheart, and she didn’t mind at all. She wouldn’t mind seeing him naked, either ... but such thoughts were dangerous. 

“It is just ... we are not soulmates, and ... you only do that out of fear!” Bungo exclaimed. 

“Yes?” Fear that she would have to marry Weasel had dictated most of her actions in those past two months. She didn’t consider it a bad thing.

“He still makes you do things you don’t want to!”, Bungo sputtered. “It isn’t right!”

“Calm down.” She smiled. “I never minded getting naked in front you you, don’t you remember?”

“Well .. yes. Maybe that is ... acceptable.” He watched her for a while, then, hesitatingly, asked: “Do you know what a naked adult man looks like?”

“In general? I do have older brothers, and some of them forget to look the bathroom door occasionally. But thank Yavanna, I don’t know what Weasel looks like – he didn’t get that far.”

If he had ever intended to undress ... likely not. 

“Good. Well. I, er, will undress, and if ... if you don’t want to see, you can just look away, I suppose.”

She nodded, and they both started getting out of their clothes. Shy glances were exchanged, and when they both put on their nightgowns, they had seen enough to not appear completely clueless in case someone brought up the topic.


	12. Chapter 12

When Bell returned from the bathroom and gestured for him to make room for her on the bed, Bungo didn’t suspect anything. 

And then she wiped her hand on the sheet, and there was a red stain, visible in the candlelight that illuminated their bedroom. 

“What ...?” She couldn’t have injured herself accidentally, not with how intentionally she had stained the sheet. 

“Just in case – I had to take my virginity, of course.”

“Did it hurt a lot?” He could just imagine the look of terror on his own face. If this was how it looked when she had done it herself, what would it have been like if the Weasel had succeeded with his attempt?

She smiled, a small smile, and not a very happy one, but a smile nonetheless. “Not as much as you getting your soulmark did, I would assume.”

“That was different.” He had been prepared for much worse, and after all, it was just his wrist, a rather public body part. “Does it still hurt?”

“A bit”, she admitted. “But really, it is not that bad.”

“Thank you for ... for doing it yourself.” Why had no one ever thought to tell him before, that he would have to cause his wife pain to make the marriage valid? Was this something everyone else just ... knew?

It was against everything he had thought he knew about marriage. He wanted to make his wife happy! 

“You did so much for me already. I ... I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you ...” Bell murmured, still staring at the bloodstain. 

“You have, many times.” He lifted the blanket, wordlessly inviting her to lie down and get some sleep. 

And finally, she accpted the invitation, laid down next to him and pulled the blanket up to her chin. 

“Many times, yes”, she whispered. “But ... properly? Are words enough, when I took away your whole life, without giving you anything in return but the good feeling to have done the right thing?”

“You didn’t take anything away.” How did she not see that? “I was unmarked. You know how awkward I am around strangers. I would never have married, and become lonelier than ever, while my siblings marry and move away.”

“So, you are happy?”, Bell asked quietly, as if she didn’t dare believe it. 

“Indeed! Why, those were my ambitions in life. Get married and move into a home that is constructed exactly like I want it to. You know I am a boring hobbit, I never wanted anything extraordinary ... that is, after the other children picked so much on me for being boring, I always wanted to show them that I am not. Wanted to show them that I can be a hero.” And maybe that was why he had so readily agreed to help. “Now look at me, boring old Bungo travelled to Bree, and did something no hobbit has ever done before! I am quite proud of myself, if I might say so, and that is entirely thanks to you, Bells. Now I can enjoy my boring, ordinary life in peace, and with the knowledge, that if I put my mind to it, I can be quite extraordinary indeed.”

“I ... I won’t be a good wife”, Bell murmured. “I have never been suited for marriage.”

“Oh, nonsense, you are perfect as you are.” 

And finally, with a whispered “Thank you”, she turned to her side and was asleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can suspend disbelief for that one - I just think Belladonna would be the kind of girl who reads anatomy books, knows exactly what the euphemisms mean, and is determined enough to make damn sure that if Weasel ever succeeds in raping her, he will believe she wasn't a virgin anymore, which she knows would disappoint him. Wiping the blood on the sheets is just her making sure that everything looks "right" in case the in-laws would sneak into the bedroom to have a look. (The whole thing made her quite the bit paranoid, I'm afraid)


	13. Chapter 13

Bella did her best to be a good wife. She had all seven meals of the day ready before Bungo could even think of getting hungry, washed his waistcoats and ironed his handkerchiefs. She wiped the dust from the mantelpiece and door frames once a day, and changed the bedsheets every two days. 

Bungo’s parents nodded approvingly whenever they visited, complimented her cooking and smiled. And yet, he himself, while not uttering a word of criticism, looked at her with this unbearable disappointment on his face. 

An accusation, unspoken, yet obvious. 

One time, he emerged from his study with that very same look on his face. “Bells”, he said. “We need to talk about our marriage.”

She had known. Oh, she had known. He would never be happy. “What is it!?”, she more yelled than asked. “I do everything for you! I ... I have breakfast ready before you even wake up, your clothes are immaculate, and ... and ...” She didn’t finish the sentence, suddenly feeling weak and queasy, and instead sat down in one of their plushy armchairs. Only then did she notice the tears rolling over her cheeks. “Sorry I shouted at you”, she said quietly. How could she have been so cruel, after everything he had done for her? 

“Bell, dearest, it’s not that. My parents love you, you know? They think you make a perfect daughter in law.”

“Then why is it that every time you look at me, it’s with disappointment?”

Bungo sat down in the other armchair. “It is just ... this is not what I imagined it would be like, when you first suggested that we get married.”

“What did you imagine, then?” He had been the one to decide that, when they went to bed, there would be only sleeping, in the literal sense of the word. So that could not be what he missed, and it was not like him, anyway. 

“I thought I would sit at the fireplace in the evenings, reading a book, maybe have dinner cooking on the stove, and then you’d come home and I would walk to the door and pluck the burs out of your hair and wash the dirt off your feet, and we would eat together and you’d tell me of your adventures ...” He blew his nose, and his voice sounded a bit like he was going to cry himself. “I know I cannot have that now – that maybe you will never be as carefree as you were before, not after ... but ... please stop dusting the furniture all the time? It drives me crazy. That’s not who you used to be. You couldn’t care less if there was some dust on the bookshelves in your room when we were younger. You were proud that you could write your name in the dust there!”

Bungo sniffed, then offered Bella one of his handkerchiefs. “Tomorrow, stay in bed and let me prepare first breakfast? And maybe second, too? I understand that you don’t want to leave the house on your own anymore, but ... we could at least go to your parents’ and have a look at the flowers you grew from the seeds I gave you for my birthday? Something like that?”

Bella swallowed. The flowers! She had been so busy being the perfect wife, so desperate to make up for her selfishness, that ... “I ... I’m not sure they are alive anymore. I ...”

“They are quite alright, or at least were yesterday. But maybe we could relocate some of them to our garden here?”

“You looked after them?”

“Of course I did. You told me what they need, after all, so it was very easy. What do you think where I was when I went out for a walk while you were busy?”

“Oh.”

 

Of course Bell didn’t become her old self in an instant, but Bungo was very pleased with the progress after he had brought up the topic. 

She had gathered the seeds of her exotic flowers, to sow again next spring. Instead of dusting the mantlepiece, she had started to dig a new room. 

Bungo happily cleaned up the earth she carried into the living room when she returned from work, and in the evening, he always had a bowl of hot water ready to bathe her feet in. 

Slowly, things were returning to normal, and Bungo loved normal. And if Bell’s normal was a bit more entertaining than everyone else’s, then that suited him just fine. 

As Bell was so happy busying herself with digging a new room, Bungo didn’t interfere, and just shared his knowledge. The books he had brought from his parents’ house were kept on a shelf in the kitchen that had been originally intended for cookbooks, as no room for books had yet been built. 

Bungo loved it when Bell dashed in to look up some detail, and he could send her on her way with a filled pastry or little cake.   
Her face would glow with excitement and sometimes she almost pressed a kiss on his cheek before ... really, he was not sure why she decided not to, but that her instict was to do it made him very happy. 

The space for the new room got bigger and bigger. When Bell finally asked Bungo to have a look at it, it was already as big as their dining room. He took his time exploring it, as it was obvious at first glance what wouldn’t work out, and he loathed to have to disappoint Bells. “This will not work out”, he said slowly. “I am afraid, if you put the windows where you planned them, you won’t have light here in the mornings.”

Bell nodded. “Not in the early mornings, I should think. But in the afternoons and evenings?”

“Yes ... but ...”

“That’s when you like to read your books, isn’t it?” 

“Oh.” Bungo looked around the room with new eyes. “So this is not going to be your new bedroom?” He had been worried about her wellbeing, sleeping so improperly close to a male after what Weasel had done to her, but she had never complained. 

“I don’t think I need one quite now. You, however, definitely need a library. Where would you like the bookshelves?”

“Oh. Oh Bells!” Sensing his desire to hug her, she threw herself into his arms, and he pulled her close. “You are the best.” 

“Just good enough.” She smiled at him. “What would you do all winter without your library?”

“Thanks to you, I will never find out!”


	14. Chapter 14

Was Bungo truly happy, or did he just pretend to be because he knew she had meant well? “Of course, one of us could sleep on a couch in the library, if you’d rather ...” He would probably not allow her to be that person, but it would be better than to force him to share a bed with her, would it? “I don’t snore, do I?”

“Not at all.” His smile lost a bit of its brightness. “I just thought, well, you might be more comfortable having the bed to yourself.”

“Very kind of you, but to say the truth I feel ... safer with you close, so if you don’t mind ...” It was very selfish of her, she knew, and still she couldn’t help it; waking up from a nightmare was just so much more bearable when she could look at his sleeping face and ascertain her husband was not, and would never be, the Weasel. 

“Why would I mind? Whatever makes you feel better, dearest.”

Once more, she snuggled into his embrace. She had always known that Bungo would make a good husband. Even when she had still been planning to remain a spinster. No doubt he would have addressed any wife of his, no matter who she was, with such lovely endearments, because it was what his parents did, and his grandparents before them. 

If only he had chosen her of his own free will ... but maybe he had told her the truth and would never have chosen anyone, because of his natural shyness. Bella liked to believe that, it helped her sleep better at nights. 

 

Married life suited Bungo well. He baked more and even dared some experiments, trying to impress Bell, and succeeding almost every time. There was the incident with the burnt cake, which he only noticed was burnt when he had already served it, but Bell had laughed about that, and told some anecdotes about her own failed experiments. 

Winter forced Bell to stay inside, anyway, and Bungo could convince himself that she was her usual, carefree self. 

When, close to winter solstice, she became bored, he dug out a book that described how to build a little smial out of snow, and Bella tried, again and again, until she had managed that feat.   
They had a little picnic in there, and Bungo felt like his life was double as exciting without being any less comfortable than before. 

Winter solstice was an occasion for parties and much eating, and if Bungo was honest with himself, he really enjoyed the invitations. Bell’s parents were just as fond of him as his parents of her, and while Bungo was a rather solitary hobbit if left to his own devices, it did fill him with warm satisfaction that his new family approved of him. 

Spring came, and with it, another part of Bell’s old self returned. When it was just so warm enough to start the sowing of tomatoes, she made plans for a daring experiment. 

Bungo smiled as he watched her draw plans. It had a high risk of going wrong, but that was the case with many things Bell usually did. She had been the child with most scratches and bruises when they had been young, and had even needed stitches on one occasion, but she always survived. 

He himself would probably be devastated if his tomatoes didn’t grow just the same as they did every year, but Bell was a risk-taker. 

So he was not overly worried when she took a sharp knife and cut the tops off the young tomato plants, something that seemed terribly unintuitive and dangerous to him. 

Bell was her usual happy self, so he didn’t think about it much, until one day, she excitedly asked him to come and have a look. 

 

She had selected a nice, sunny patch, and sheltered it with some glass. Now, she pointed at a little plant. “I did it. The lower half is potatoe and the upper half is tomato. It works!”

“You ... fused to different plants together?” He looked more closely. Indeed, there was a sort of scar. Two plants grown together. “Bell, you are a genius!”

Laughing with unrestrained mirth, Bell spun him around, then pulled him into a hug. For a moment, their faces were close, so very close, and there was something in her eyes ...

But then she let go of him, and the moment was over. 

 

Bungo considered asking Bell what she felt for him, if she had wanted to kiss him in that moment, but in the end decided against it.   
He did not know much about love, but he did know a great deal about tomatoes. When growing the little plants in pots inside the house, it was very important to not keep them too warm or give them too much fertilizer when there was not enough sun.   
Too much warmth without sun would make them grow too long, and then they’d be unstable and topple over. 

If Bell was developing more romantic feelings for him, then, he reasoned, it would be best not to hurry it along, or pressure her, by asking about it. The sunshine needed here was her normal, adventurous self, and it had not yet returned completely. 

He would wait. In the meantime, he was as happy as he could possibly be, and Bell, well, she could not doubt that he held her in very high esteem. It was implied in everything he did, and he might have even said it once or twice.


	15. Chapter 15

It was dark outside, and Bella was in the kitchen, preparing a late-night snack, as her husband, immersed in a book, had forgotten to do anything about supper (as had Bella). 

She had just put the fried eggs on a plate when she heard a noise in the hall. Bungo, she was quite sure, was in the library, and had not moved. Bella grabbed the handle of the frying pan so hard that her knuckles went white. 

The pan would make a good makeshift weapon, she decided, and one the invader might not be able to use against her. Weasel had never taken much of an interest in cooking. 

Silently she moved towards the kitchen door. Her heart beat so loud she would have thought it might betray her, had she not had enough experience from playing hide-and-seek in her childhood to know that it never did. 

It was dark in the hall, but she could see the silhouette of ... someone who was much taller than Weasel. Had he hired a ... dwarf?

Bella decided to think about it later. She had not expected someone taller when she had chosen the pan, but she could improvise. With one big leap she jumped on one of the armchairs and from there towards the dwarf, hitting his head with the frying pan while she did so. 

The noise that the impact produced was a very satisfying one. The dwarf swayed and, finally, hit the floor. 

 

Bungo had noticed that it had become dark, but had not quite thought of eating something even though he had lit his reading lamp. 

Only when he heard a very strange noise from the dining room, did he notice that it was not only very late, but also that he had missed a meal, and, most importantly, this was a hour where Bell would not be doing anything noisy of her own volition, for she was very respectful of his need for quiet nights. 

He hurried towards the dining room, while his overactive imagination supplied several situations that might have caused the noise. Maybe Bell had stumbled and hurt herself ... but she had not cursed loudly, as she would. 

Maybe she was hurt too badly to do that ... 

When he entered the dark dining room, only lit by a bit of light from the open kitchen door, he could see that Bell was just ... standing there. 

“Bells? Are you alright?” He touched her shoulder. 

“A rope”, she whispered. “Bring a rope.”

Only then did Bungo notice the dark form of something big on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

He didn’t like it one bit to leave Bell alone with this ... thing, but she had been very clear what she needed, and she was the one better equipped to deal with such things. So Bungo went to fetch the rope she had bought in case she ever needed it – she insisted that you could always use a rope. 

When he returned, she was still standing in the same place, it was still dark, and Bungo began to suspect that something was not quite right with her. 

Fighting down his fear, he tiptoed towards the heap of ... something, and discovered that it was a dwarf. Bungo had heard enough adventure stories to know what to do. He tied the dwarf’s hands with a very secure knot he had read about, and learnt out of curiousity. 

Only then did he go to the kitchen to get some light.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put in some of your favourite dwarves. :)

In the candlelight, everything looked even more sinister. Bell was deathly pale and trembling. Bungo placed a hand on her shoulder. “What now?”, he asked. If they had been more than two, he would have asked someone to fetch a Shirriff, but he couldn’t leave Bell here alone, and he could not ask her to go out alone at night. 

The dwarf stirred, sat up, blinked. 

“How did you get in?” Bell asked, and there was only the hint of fear in her voice. 

No answer. 

“How did you get in? Those locks are the best money could buy.”

She was right. Bungo had especially commissioned them, so that she could feel safe. He would never heave dreamt of someone breaking in – least of all a dwarf!

“Aye. They are mightily fine locks, I will give you that”, the dwarf said slowly. “Took me over an hour to get them open.” He stared at Bell for a while. “I doubt any hobbit could get past them. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry!” Bungo gave the dwarf his best glare. “Don’t worry? You broke into our home and tell us not to worry?!”

“I didn’t break in!”, the dwarf replied. “It’s not as if I broke anything. If you hadn’t hit me over the head, I would even have locked the door behind me!”

Bungo didn’t know what to say to that, and apparently, neither did Bell. 

Finally, it was the dwarf who spoke again. “Alright, I shouldn’t have been such a show-off. Should have knocked at the door like anyone else, I suppose. Thing is ... I have a message for you. That is, can I see your wrist, lass?”

This sounded increasingly as if it had something to do with ... adventures. Bungo decided to let Bell handle everything, and just do what she said. 

Bell didn’t reply immediately, but after a while, she nodded slowly. She rolled back her sleeve and held it up in the candlelight. 

“Ah, good. Well, thing is, I have bad news for you two. Some hobbit has been asking questions lately. Questions about tattoos. He doesn’t know anything for sure, yet, but ... we figured you should know.”

When Bungo took Bell’s hand and led her to an armchair, she followed him like a frightened child. He put a blanket around her shoulders. “I will make some tea.”

She didn’t protest. 

“And you”, Bungo said as he walked past the dwarf “Stay where you are if you know what is good for you.”

In the kitchen, he discovered some scrambled eggs. Dear Bell, she had actually thought to make something!

He only noticed that he had put three cups on the tray when he had already carried everything to the dining room. 

The dwarf was where he had left him, but had sat up and had apparently been talking to Bell. 

“I think we can risk to free him”, she said quietly. “He says picking locks is his craft, and ... it is true, dwarves are very passionate about those things. It is not entirely impossible that he would do it just to show off.”

“But this is not an adequate hour for a visit!” Bungo set the tray down on the little tea table. 

“I couldn’t very well come during day, could I?”, the dwarf replied. “People would have asked inconvenient questions. From what Dori told me, you two could only get married because he is so good at what he does. We aren’t sure how hobbit marriage works. If someone could separate you against your will.”

“They could”, Bell said quietly. 

Bungo poured her a cup of tea. “They couldn’t”, he protested weakly. “Divorce would require one of us to want to get divorced, would it not?”

Bell gave him a grateful little smile. “It is only a matter of time until they notice that I am not pregnant yet ... divorce requires our consent, but to declare the marriage void ...”

“Actually, if you have fertility problems, I have a cousin who could ...” the dwarf started, but fell silent soon, apparently sensing that he had been inappropriate. 

Bungo filled the other two cups with tea, then untied the dwarf, very carefully. 

However, the dwarf did not attack. Instead, he stood up and bowed. “Nori, at your service.”

“Belladonna Baggins”, Bell replied, and the rest of what she said Bungo didn’t really hear. He had never heard her introduce herself with his name before – everyone knew everyone else, anyway, so there wasn’t often need to introduce ...

“Bungo? Are you alright?”

“Oh? Yes, yes, quite. I was just ... lost in thought.”

“How does this work, anyways?” Nori helped himself to a cup of tea, then sat down on the rug again. “I am familiar with contracts that are declared void because there’s some part in it that is not lawful, or somesuch. But I suppose your marriage contract is a standard document? And what has pregnancy to do with it?”

Bella sighed. “You wouldn’t understand, but ... trust me, pregnancy is very important. I heard dwarves have very few children ... it is different with hobbits.”

Nori sipped at his teacup. “I’d think it would be the other way round. I heard of marriage contracts where male infertility is mentioned, but not as something that would lead to divorce, usually ... I don’t suppose hobbit laws would allow for the addition of another husband ...”

“Dear Yavanna, no!”

“Thought so.” Nori grinned. “And I suppose it would be unfair to the second husband - I can tell the two of you are besotted with each other.”

“That is not quite the phrasing I would ...” Bungo began. 

 

Bella had held her breath when Nori had said ‘besotted’, but Bungo protested – of course he would. They were among themselves, no need to pretend. Bungo liked her as a friend, and nothing more. 

“Hobbits!”, the dwarf snorted. “I have been warned about that. Masters of understatement, Dori told me. You’d probably say you ‘esteem each other highly’. That you find each other ‘quite agreeable’. Translates to: ‘besotted’”. 

Bella felt a smile appear on her face despite herself. ‘Esteem’ was, in fact, a word that Bungo often used when she was insecure about his happiness in their marriage. It probably didn’t mean much, and she shouldn’t get her hopes up, but ...

“Ah, well”, Bungo mumbled. “I ... I have to admit that ... well. What you have been told about hobbits is not entirely untrue, but I ... some are simply not prone to such ... passionate feelings.”

“Aye, I suppose it was a vague sense of being fond of the lass that caused you to go to such lengths to marry her. Cheers!” The dwarf raised his teacup as if it was a mug of ale, and drank .. as if it was water. 

Bella watched with growing fascination as Bungo blushed. It started at his neck, then creeped up his face, and finally ears. 

 

“Thanks for the tea”, Nori put the teacup down. “I should get going now. In case you get into trouble – not sayin that you will, but if you do, go to Bree. Dori can give you a place to stay and protection, and I can ... well, many things.” He winked, and Bella barely managed to say goodbye before he was out of the door.


End file.
